I took the dogs out for their morning walk as usual, across some fields that are normally empty, give or take the odd deer or rabbit. In the distance I saw Az having a good roll on his back. Nothing odd there, he really enjoys rolling in grass. Then he came dancing back a bit closer again, and PHEW! He had found a cowflop and had absolutely coated himself in it.
"Oh, Az!" I exclaimed and we wandered onwards, me thinking 'it's the hose for you, my lad'. I did not think, as I should have done 'Hang on, where did that cowflop come from, there are no cows here?' I was obviously in a particularly dozy mood, as even when we passed a place where the hedge had clearly been bashed down, my alarm sensors totally failed to go off.
So, three fields in, I was totally taken aback by the marauding herd of bullocks that came storming over to see what we were up to. Now, I don't mind bullocks too much: they are a bit pushy, but a loud cry of 'YAH! and waving of the arms will stop them treading on your feet or knocking you over. But they don't like dogs at all, and my dogs are not so used to cows that they won't panic if a bunch of bullocks start trying to chase them. Which they did.
I decided to leave the dogs offlead - they are much faster than me, so that was safer for all of us, as the bullocks were scared of me, slow as I am, but were trying to stomp the dogs. Az sensibly stayed behind me and fairly close, so that I could keep the bullocks away from him with cries of YAH! while we headed for the gate.
But poor Mollydog lost it entirely and shot off in completely the wrong direction, closely pursued by a couple of bullocks. There was no point me running after them, as then I'd have exposed Az to the rest of the herd, and OK, he is quick, but there were an awful lot of hooves there. So we shot out through the gate, then rushed back and round through the next field to save poor Mollydog. Luckily the bullocks had not chased her very far, but she was still very pleased to see us!
After this rather traumatic experience, I still had to wash Az when we got home. In fact, I had to wash him twice, as I was unable to get all the muck off under the hose, so once he was more or less clean enough to walk through the house, I had to give him a shower as well. He was not a happy dog.